


if it brings me to my knees it's a bad religion

by nichaught



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Big angst, F/F, Whiplash AU, i can't get this au out of my head, slowburn perhaps. maybe i like being in pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichaught/pseuds/nichaught
Summary: whiplash au. for those of you who've seen it, don't worry, i wouldn't do that to you or me. it'll be far from plot point-for-plot point, plus i don't find nicole's characterization to be similar to andrew's at all, the only trait of his she'll retain is dedication to her art. and it's obviously very wayhaught-centric so it won't be just nicole. i don't want to say it's loosely based on the movie because a lot of the major storyline will still be there, but i'm changing a lot of it. if you haven't seen the movie, i highly recommend it if you're not super put off by violence/abuse. it's about a college-age jazz drummer (andrew, who nicole will be taking the place of) who gets into the best music college in the country and makes it into the studio jazz band (aka the one held in the highest esteem), but the director (fletcher, who lucado will be taking the place of) is abusive and an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to his jazz band. chaos ensues. enjoy.





	if it brings me to my knees it's a bad religion

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really just testing the waters here, seeing if this gains any momentum. i harbor a deep passion for both wayhaught and jazz drumming, so hopefully you like it. gothearp.tumblr.com for any inquiries.

**( Nicole Haught )**

_Dut._

The sound echoed throughout the dimly lit practice room at the end of the narrow hallway, an odd spot for a drum set, Nicole always thought.

_Dut._

The snare drum had an awful twang to it, one that must have been an entire half step down from the tuning of the drum. It made Nicole’s ears hurt, and it was all too audible when she was playing stand-alone singles. She made a mental note to bring her drum key, and maybe a ring mute, next time she wanted to practice.

_Dut._

This particular exercise was excruciating, but Nicole was quick to remind herself that it was only a warm-up, and that she was just getting started.

_Dut._

Her single quarter notes began to progress in speed, sounding more like ballad tempo eighth notes.

_Dut._

Too comfortable.

_Dut._

Faster.

_Dut._

She was playing comfortable sixteenths now.

_Dut._

Keep going.

_Dut._

It began to sound like more of a single stroke roll. Her hits were no longer discernible from one another, her wrists moving at an ungodly pace, she had reached her peak tempo. She held it there, forearms beginning to tense. _Push through, Nic._ 10 more seconds.

_Dut._

The bass hit signaled the end of the exercise. Nicole stilled for a moment after, completely frozen, as if she was contemplating whether she was satisfied with the quality of her playing. And then every muscle in her body relaxed. Yes, she was. It was clean. Better than she’d been able to play in awhile.

Nicole addressed the kit for a second, adjusting the crash cymbal stand to her liking, and dusting off the floor tom with her hand.  It wasn’t long after that she began tapping out rudiments on the battered snare. Her movements were fluid as she added in some tom hits, her technique solid and consistent. Her sticks flew from the snare, to the first tom, to the floor tom. To the ear, it was chaotic. Loud. But to the eye, it was obvious she’d practiced it a million times over. It seemed so natural, all of it looked so effortless.

Nicole knew her technique was practically flawless, she had spent hours upon hours, days upon days, perfecting it. She was very technical. Someone on the outside might have said she was obsessed with having perfect technique, but it really wasn’t like that. The way she saw it, if you wanted to develop a playing style, the technical skills  _had_ to be there first. Technique and style go hand in hand, which is why her playing included both of them, in equal parts.

Nicole leaned her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut as she began to feel the sting in her muscles that she knew so well. So at first, she didn’t notice Director Lucado standing in the doorway, eyeing Nicole’s playing. But the minute Nicole saw who was watching, she halted all movement.

Lucado directed the studio jazz band, which was the best and highest-esteemed band at Shaffer Conservatory. Which was the best and highest-esteemed music college in the entire country. Which made Lucado the best and highest-esteemed band director in the entire country.

Nicole was in the regular jazz band at Shaffer. The only thing there for her were a couple of acquaintances she’d made exchanges with a few times, a core drummer she couldn’t stand, and the fact that she had a massive crush on one of the alto saxophonists. The core drummer’s name was Champ Hardy, and he was a real dick for a guy who could barely say he had one. Champ was everything that was wrong with the world. The alto saxophonist, on the other hand, was his girlfriend (Or if she had heard right, which she was hoping she did, his ex girlfriend. She couldn’t say she was too fond of their relationship, so she minorly rejoiced in their separation.), Waverly Earp. _She_ was everything that was not.

“Uh- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Nicole brought her sticks in and began to stand, wiping the palm of her free hand over her blue jeans nervously.

“No, stay.” Lucado’s tone was somewhat friendlier than what Nicole had anticipated. She slowly descended back onto her kit stool, bringing her sticks back to rest on her thigh. “What’s your name?”

“Nicole Haught, ma’am.” There was a tremor in Nicole’s voice, she cursed herself for not being able to hide it.

“What year are you?” Lucado’s voice sounded too casual, it was incredibly unsettling.

“I’m uh, a first year.” The news that Nicole had gotten into Shaffer was probably the best she’d received in her life.

“Do you know who I am?” Oh, she knew.

A pause. “Yes, ma’am.”

Another pause. “So.. you know I’m looking for players.” Lucado was shaking her head, as if she was genuinely confused as to why Nicole didn’t continue her exercise.

Nicole nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why did you stop playing?” This single survey with Lucado had made Nicole more intimidated than she’d ever been in her life. She felt her white t-shirt sticking to her skin. It was as if Lucado’s words induced more nerves in Nicole than any performance ever had.

Nicole hastily adjusted her position on her stool, bringing her sticks out and soon playing the same freeform-type exercise she’d been hammering out minutes before. She was really pushing this one, considering Director Lucado’s presence. Sweat started to form in between her hands and the rubber grips on the bottoms of her sticks. She ended it with a hit on the ride, muting it shortly after by grabbing the edge. She shifted her gaze up to Lucado expectantly, waiting for some sort of feedback.

Lucado stared into Nicole’s head. “Did I ask you to start playing again?” Her expression remained solid.

“I’m s- uh.. Sorry, I-” Nicole was blanking. She was certain this was a game Lucado liked to play.

“I asked why you stopped playing and your version of an answer was to turn into a wind-up monkey.” Surely Lucado was fucking with her.

“Sorry, I-”

“Show me your rudiments.” Lucado shrugged off her blazer and hung it on the rack next to her. _So that’s why the studio band kids act like hardened war veterans._ Nicole’s observation skills weren’t exactly what you’d call sharp, but it didn’t take a genius to imagine what a hardass Lucado could be in session, judging from Nicole’s ongoing encounter.

So Nicole switched her grip to traditional and showed Lucado her rudiments. She had a whole sequence worked out. Double stroke roll, paradiddle, flam, double paradiddle, ratamacue, and so on. But to Nicole’s confusion and slight annoyance, Lucado almost immediately held up a closed fist, the universal signal to cease playing.

“Double-time swing.” Lucado said, her voice clear, cutting through the humid air like a knife.

Lucado started to clap a tempo, say 120 beats per minute, to which Nicole responded by playing a swing beat in time with Lucado’s claps. “No, double time. Double it!” Lucado demanded.

Nicole played her swing beat two times as fast, matching Lucado. “Faster!” Lucado must have needed something very specific to have picked double-time swing.

Lucado’s claps picked up in speed, as did Nicole’s drumming. But she could feel herself dragging just the tiniest bit. She knew Lucado wanted perfection. Nicole was too focused on getting the swing beat up to speed that she didn’t notice the lack of clapping until she heard the clang of the practice room door swinging shut. She hung her head and cursed herself silently. She knew what getting into Shaffer’s top band as a first year could do for her. She wanted it more than anything. Seriously. She’d give up eating, sleeping, anything. But only if it entailed a spot in that jazz band.

Nicole’s head shot up and her posture straightened the second she heard the door reopen. “Oopsy daisy,” Lucado’s tone was light-hearted. “Forgot my jacket.” And just like that, Nicole’s window of opportunity had vanished as abruptly as it had appeared to her.

**( Waverly Earp )**

Waverly Earp played alto saxophone for Shaffer Conservatory’s regular jazz band. Her sister, Wynonna, played bass trombone for Shaffer’s studio jazz band, which Waverly always found herself resenting Wynonna for. _It’s not her fault you’re not in it, it’s yours. Blame yourself._ Something she told herself constantly. Virtually all of her friends played for studio jazz. She was over it. She was just as good as Wynonna, in fact, she considered herself better at sax than Wynonna was at trombone. She couldn’t see why Lucado hadn’t picked her yet. Her moment was coming up though, she could feel it. Lucado had heard her play several times. Briefly, but enough for Lucado to know Waverly took her music seriously. Waverly had watched Wynonna, Dolls, Doc, Jeremy, Rosita, Chrissy, and even Bobo (Who no one really took a liking to, but he and Waverly had a weird sort of bond, so she kept him around) get put into studio jazz one by one.

At this point, the only person in regular jazz she really knew was Champ Hardy, the core drummer. And he was her ex, so it wasn’t like Waverly enjoyed his company. Plus, by the time the weekend had passed, he was already making out with a new girl before jazz practice. Waverly glanced out into the hallway where Champ was practically sucking this girl’s soul out, and rolled her eyes. _Better this than pestering me and trying to win me back._ Which he _had_ been doing the Friday they broke up, by the way. But he was quick to move on, thankfully.

She only dated him because she felt like it was her only option. But eventually, she realized she was better off single than with a territorial, entitled, misogynistic asshole who really only wanted her for the sex. She was better than that, Wynonna had told her, and she was right. Within just two days of breaking up with Champ, Waverly felt an enormous weight lifted off her shoulders. It was hard to explain. All Waverly knew was she felt free to do whatever. Without plans to hang out with him and his obscenely bigoted friends taking up too much of her time, she could take time for herself. Get some practice in. Go out to eat. Whatever she wanted. It was refreshing.

Her thoughts about what an anchor Champ’s presence in her life was were interrupted by him and one of his buddies, Eric, greeting each other loudly. “My man Champ, oh shit!” Eric exclaimed. “How you feeling, man?” Eric and Champ performed the quick bro handshake Waverly had grown to wholeheartedly hate.

Eric and Champ were suddenly quieter, their mumbled conversation dissipating into the rest of the chatter. One thing did stick out to Waverly, though. “Yo, things were hurting with Haught on the kits.” Eric’s eyes flitted to the other drummer, whose fiery red hair immediately caught Waverly’s eye.

Waverly turned back to examine Haught, recognizing her as one of her sister’s good friends. Haught was studiously marking her music with what Waverly assumed were rhythms and notes of reminders. Haught’s eyebrows were furrowed, she was ridiculously focused, but her features were, to put it simply, perfect. Like, Ancient Greek statue perfect. Haught seemed like a great friend, musician, and all around person. Hell, she _was_ all of those things, if Wynonna’s gushing and Waverly’s own ears were any implication. Yeah, Haught’s style of jazz drumming was way different from Champ’s. But it was just something the band wasn’t used to. Waverly actually preferred it. In fact, if Waverly had a say, she’d switch Nicole to core drummer, and that wasn’t just her bias against Champ talking.

Nicole’s style of drumming was technical, but graceful. Not robotic like Champ’s. He was always clutching his sticks like they were his lifeblood, like if he didn’t play every single rhythm as written in his music he’d keel over and his heart would stop. Nicole’s sticks were her lifeblood, too, but she was loose. She was relaxed without being lazy and forgetting the essentials. She improvised, let her creative window expand slightly beyond the piece of paper sitting on the stand to her left, just above the hi-hat. As a drummer should. She closed her eyes when she played, almost like she was just letting her muscles do the work for her. Anyone could tell that she played by listening to the music, by being able to hear what fill should go where. As a jazz drummer should.

Waverly shook herself from her daydreams about Nicole. _Since when do I spend so much time watching Nicole?_ She actually knew the answer to that. Every time her section isn’t playing, when it’s just the rhythm section (or rhythm and brass) and Nicole’s on the kit, Waverly’s head is turned to watch her. She must have absentmindedly been jotting down the details of Nicole’s playing style all those times.

Waverly never thought much of her fascination with Nicole, she just liked how Nicole played is all. And she liked her face. She really did. But it was plain as day to everyone, right? That Nicole Haught was extremely attractive? Obviously.

Wynonna had mentioned Nicole’s preference to Waverly several times, and Waverly knew that Nicole was, in fact, a lesbian. Waverly wasn’t a homophobe, so the knowledge didn’t change Waverly’s admiration for Nicole’s work. And face. And physique. Yeah, her physique. Oops. Waverly wasn’t gay at all, but she wasn’t fucking blind either.

Waverly’s self-reflection session was cut short by the band’s director stepping to the podium, as Waverly realized she should’ve been warming up her instrument. She let out a small sigh. “Good morning everybody.” Mr. Nedley gave his band an irritated look as he got no response from the group of young adults. “…. _Good morning everybody._ ” Nedley repeated himself, placing a tad more emphasis on each of his words. Waverly could see the dark circles under his eyes from where she sat. Mr. Nedley’s daughter, Chrissy, was the pianist for studio jazz, while he was stuck directing regular. Waverly imagined he wasn’t too happy with his life or his job.

He was met with scattered mutterings of greeting from the room of tired, unenthusiastic musicians. “Alright.” His smile was half-hearted. “Let’s do uh.. ‘Billie’s In’, from the top, yes?”

His proposition was followed by the sound of ruffling papers and turning pages. Waverly quickly tried to circulate warm air through her sax. Nedley counted the piece off, cutting it off around bar 30 to fix the reed section. “Uh, reeds. Can I hear the pickup to bar 25 again please?” Waverly, along with the rest of the reeds, played the pickup to bar 25. Perry was sharp. Steph was counting the slurred eighths wrong. She acted as if she’d never played swing before. Waverly shut her eyes for a moment to gain her composure. _You’re first chair for a reason,_ she had to remind herself. _They don’t have as much experience._ Waverly glanced back at Nicole who, weirdly, had already been looking in Waverly’s direction, if only for a second or two. She caught Nicole’s eye, apparently, so she sent her a charming smile and a small wave. Nicole flashed a smile back, her dimples prominent as ever. Waverly thought she saw color forming in Nicole’s cheeks, but decided she wouldn’t read into it. Right then, she decided that she’d ask Nicole to hang out after practice today. She gave an affirming nod to herself as if it solidified the plan. She didn’t know why, but there was something special about Nicole that made Waverly want to be near her all the time.

Once again, Waverly couldn’t finish one coherent thought about Nicole because something interrupte her. This time, it was the startling sound of doors flinging open, hitting the walls. Lucado. Waverly immediately straightened up, like a soldier being called to attention. She was afraid to breathe.

Lucado gestured Nedley out of the way. “May I?” He huffed as she stepped up to the director’s podium. She flipped through the charts for “Billie’s In”, scoffed, and mumbled. “Cute. Down the line, trumpets. Bars 7 and 8.” She didn’t take a liking to any of their playing.

“Trombones. 24, the and of 2.” The trombone player’s music fell to the tile. “Maybe not. Tenor, let’s start at the pickup to 11. 3, 4.” Chrissy played at the pickup to 11, counting the swing eighths right this time. Lucado cut her off. She pointed to Perry.

“Same spot.” Perry was still fucking sharp, even after tuning. He didn’t have much of an ear. “Okay that’s enough of that.” Lucado pointed at Waverly. “Well you’re in first chair, let’s see if it’s just because you’re cute. 3, 4.” Waverly began the excerpt, played until she was cut off by Lucado’s closed fist in the air. Lucado nodded, and Waverly could tell there was a hint of surprise. Maybe she was impressed?

Lucado moved to rhythm. She didn’t want drums to play an excerpt from the piece, she wanted double-time swing. Odd. Champ hammered his out, then Nicole. Nicole’s was a tad faster. Waverly suppressed a small smile she coudln’t help from forming. She just couldn’t tell if it was there because she wanted to see Champ fail, or because she wanted Nicole to succeed. Maybe both.

After Lucado was done analyzing each and every musician’s playing, she took a moment to think. “Alright. Drums, alto sax, with me.” Waverly stood and followed Lucado, and Champ, being the core drummer, grinned his ugly grin and began to make his way to her. Lucado stared at him blankly a moment before dismissing him. “No, no. Other drums.” There was that smile on Waverly's face again.

Nicole looked like a deer in headlights, her expression revealing a wide range of emotions, from relief to confusion to elation. She stood slowly, as if she thought a joke was being played on her. Like Lucado would turn back around and say, “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. Sit down your ass back down, Haught.”

But she didn’t. Lucado wanted Waverly and Nicole. Waverly tried not to get her hopes up, but she was really anticipating for Lucado to tell them they were both in studio jazz. “Room B16 tomorrow morning.” Her voice demanded to be heard, and she wasn’t even trying to speak at a regular conversation volume. “6 AM. Don’t be late.” Waverly wouldn’t have dared. Both of the girls nodded vigorously.

Lucado turned and strutted out of the worn band room, and Waverly took this moment as her chance. She leaned into Nicole’s side, craning her neck enough to reach Nicole’s ear. “Meet me in the hall after practice is over?” She questioned, feeling unsure of the response she'd get.

Waverly can tell Nicole is taken aback, her eyes are wide. As if she’d never been asked to hang out before. Nonetheless, her response was affirmative. “Uh, sure.” Nicole nodded and a small smile appeared on her gorgeous face. _Fuck, t_ _he dimples._

Waverly felt a grin creeping upon her own, unable to stifle it. “Great. See you in a bit.” They parted ways to their assigned spots in the band room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> again, this is just the first chapter so not much is going on. this is more of a prologue to the rest of the story, and the following chapters will probably be longer. i'll have the second one up pretty soon. let me know if you have any feedback, suggestions, criticisms, etc. (specifically on pacing because i'm always worried about it being too fast but i'm concerned this one might be too slow) you can validate my work or invalidate it to hell, either way it's always appreciated. also let me know if you catch any grammar errors PLEASE. and again, gothearp.tumblr.com or the comment section for any questions you might have.


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